The Learning Curve

With a little experience and a bit of confidence under my belt, I’m ready to share the stupid things that happened along the way.

Story and Photos by Linda Swan

It’s me again—the author of Sailing Safely at Seventy, issue #85. I’m now seventy-one and sailing with a pacemaker and two artificial hips aboard a 16-foot Newport Lockley out of the Millecoquins River, near Naubinway, Michigan.

As you may recall, the purpose of my last article was to share safety devices that I had accumulated during my four years of sailing on Lake Michigan. It has now been five years since I bid and won my beloved boat, EJ, on eBay. With a little experience and a bit of confidence under my belt, I’m ready to share the stupid things that happened along the way. Hopefully someone out there might avoid a few of the same or, perhaps not feel so alone if you too have had stupid things happen. The following events happened during the first, second and third summers of sailing Lake Michigan.

I’ve learned the hard way that the seemingly innocent sound, ping followed by a slight splash, means disaster is on its way. The cotter ring on the clevis pin has just sprung and fallen into the water. The first time it was the forestay pin and it twanged and plopped in the water while I was ashore near the sand dune in the Millecoquins River. I was actually in my tiny cabin when it came crashing down. Not only had the cotter ring sprung open but then the aluminum rivets that hold the mast to the hinge on the cabin were sheared. I decided to check the pins from now on. Good idea. I also decided to get some steel rivets to more securely hold up the mast. Bad idea, as this next incident reveals.

The next time I heard the dreaded, ping, it was the port side rigging pin. I was sailing near the shore in the Naubinway Bay on a calm, lovely warm day and found myself standing on the top of the cabin holding the mast, trying to keep it from falling over. I was not successful. It fell ripping the mast out of the mast step on top of the cabin. The holes where the steel rivets were had ripped the aluminum at the foot of the mast. “Aha,” says I. Now I know why the rivets should be aluminum! I asked about in town and found there was an airplane manufacturing facility in Newberry. I talked to a man there that said he could weld my mast; so, I stuck the mast in my Honda Civic through the moon roof and into the back seat. An interesting sight going down the road I’m sure. Now the cotter rings are checked before each sail and taped with duct tape. Needless to say, the rivets are now aluminum.

On we go to the next lesson. If something is rattling and looking loose, fix it before you go out. I noticed that the padeye where the mainsheet block attached to the boom with two rivets and a piece of metal looked loose, but I thought I would fix it at season’s end. Mistake. I was sailing not too far from shore in a 10 knot wind then there it was again…ping. The boom went flying to starboard and I was left holding the useless mainsheet. The rivets broke loose. There were three foot rollers and I was seriously rocking and rolling in the surf. I hit a sandbar and lowered the sail and quickly went in the cabin for my tool box to retrieve my rivet gun and rivets. I was able to fix it on the spot. It was a very proud moment on the learning curve peppered with stupid moments.

The next lesson is so simple it’s maddening. When raising and lowering the sails, remember to cleat the loose end of the halyard. More than once I watched the end of the line swing happily out over the water beyond my reach. Now I carry a “grabber” that I obtained when recovering from hip surgery. The people at the hospital recommend it so one doesn’t have to bend to pick up things after surgery. It’s very handy for untangling lines from shrouds and grabbing errant swinging lines and retrieving hats from the water. Happily at this point in my sailing career, I secure my hat better and remember to check sails and lines for an uncomplicated raising of the sails. There are people living on the Lake Michigan bay where I sail and, bless their hearts, they keep an eye on me. All the more embarrassing when halyards dangle about and the sail is twisted as it is hauled up.

Next lesson….respect the engineers of your boat. They undoubtedly had a reason for what they did. Take for example the little L shaped piece of metal above the tiller gudgeons. Mine fell off and since I couldn’t find another, I filled the screw hole and thought I probably didn’t need it anyway. Mistake. Sure enough, the surf was pounding when coming into the river and my tiller hit the sand jarring it out of the gudgeons and into the water. Fortunately I had a tiller tamer that kept it from disappearing below the surface.

Just when I was beginning to feel confident, the next lesson happened as I started the motor to head into the river. The pull cord came off in my hand. Luckily the wind was from the west and I was able to cruise into my spot in the river. After hauling the motor around town trying to get it fixed on a fourth of July weekend, I finally found a mechanic who not only fixed it but showed me how to start the motor should it happen again. I now carry extra cords just in case and am very happy to have that information.

Lastly, when anchoring be sure to ask yourself if you hooked the anchor to the boat. I know, but after all, we are writing about stupid things.

Armed with my new confidence and lessons learned, I began the season of 2014. EJ was clean, polished and sporting a new tiller. It was May 25. Lake Michigan was calm with very slight wind. It was a good day to begin the year and get the routines down, i.e. new tool rack placed, clean sheets on the cushions, Seafoam in the gas tank, rigging secured and checked. I was playing music and barely moving along and although the swarms of miggins were parked by the thousands on my sail and gunnels, I drifted along happy to be moving at all. Then I heard a motor and looked toward the stern to see a speedboat, two adolescents and a grey haired man. “Are you all right?” he hollered. I assured him I was fine except for the bugs. Then he really surprised me.

“I read about you in Small Craft Advisor a few months back. You’re from the Millecoquins River, right?” I was stunned. We spoke a bit and I wished we had talked more, but I was too surprised to think of anything to say. What are the odds of meeting someone who has read my article in SCA in the middle of the Lake Michigan bay?

The next and last story added to my growing confidence. The wind was S SE at 10 knots with four-foot rollers. NOAA had prophesied possible showers in the afternoon. I rolled along the bay on a beam reach or close haul mostly, and then relaxed into a downwind surfing-like sail going back toward the mouth of the river. It began to grow hazy and I could no longer see the Naubinway “stovepipe” lighthouse. The fog rolled in at an unbelievable speed and in minutes I could not see a thing. Nothing. Grey, thick soup was all around me. It’s so easy to be disoriented in such a fog. You may remember from the last article, one of my safety devices was a Lowrance LHR-80 Marine VHF/GPS. I wear it on a lanyard around my neck. The boat is registered with the Coast Guard and they could locate me if I press the red button. It also tells weather, speed, longitude, latitude, COG, bearing and waypoints. I’m very happy to report that last year I set the mouth of the river as a waypoint! I pressed the Nav button and there it was…bearing and distance to the mouth. I missed the river by .1 miles. We happily waited out the fog on a sandy beach, smugly proud.

This year I’m learning to navigate with and without the jib. All in all, I’m still sailing, still learning and loving every minute. Happy sailing. •SCA•

First appeared in issue #94